


Snowflakes

by swtalmnd



Series: Sherlock Holidays [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Copic Markers, Fluff, Illustrated, M/M, Pen & Ink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock decide to make snowflakes, but aren't entirely in agreement on what that means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Tea and Experiments](http://archiveofourown.org/works/214768/chapters/322607).

"Let's make snowflakes," said John, staring out the window at another rainy London morning. "Tonight, we can do that and decorate for the holidays."

"I don't really see how further holiday cheer will alleviate your ennui," replied Sherlock, sprawled where he was on the couch with his teacup and saucer balanced on his stomach. "But actually I believe I would enjoy making snowflakes. Tomorrow, though, I don't have everything we need."

"I'm not sure Mrs. Hudson will let you do that light thing you were on about last year," said John with a laugh. "But yes, snowflakes and cocoa and decorating tomorrow. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson will have forgiven you enough to make us some gingerbread men."

"Hm, best try for those sugared balls instead," said Sherlock. "The skull's still in the freezer, along with certain other parts, and she huffs at me whenever she tidies in there."

John laughed. "Yeah, all right, or maybe the ones with the jam in." He found himself smiling despite the rain. Snowflakes, decorating, and treats would be just the thing to put him in a proper holiday mood.

* * *

John was humming to himself the next night as he stirred the cocoa; he'd splashed out a bit and bought the kind you had to make on the stove with milk, and there were marshmallows as well to float on top. He'd set out scissors and paper for their snowflake-making, and even found an old craft knife whose blades Sherlock hadn't dulled on various experiments. Sherlock had already scarred the table beyond saving, so John wasn't worried there. John heard a thump and some tinkling and hoped Sherlock wasn't breaking anything. "I'll be out with the cocoa in a minute, did Mrs. Hudson give you the biscuits?" called John.

"She'll bring them up, they're still baking," said Sherlock smugly. "She seems to be very happy that we're getting into the spirit of the season."

John laughed. "I'm sure she's also happy you've not tried to wheedle more gingerbread out of her for body parts." He deemed the milk sufficiently hot and stirred in the chocolate, making a pleased sound at the scent that rose up as it melted into the liquid.

"As you say," said Sherlock dryly, which meant he agreed but wouldn't admit it. 

John came out, intending to present Sherlock with his cup and a kiss, and he stopped short, staring down at the table, and then up to Sherlock. "I got all the things ready for us earlier, what's all this? New case?"

Sherlock looked over at him and said, eyes narrowed, "No, it's for tonight."

John's brow furrowed. "I thought we were making snowflakes?" he asked, just as Sherlock said the same thing.

They both laughed, and John handed over the mug. "All right," said John, "clearly we have different ideas about this process. I meant the sort you cut out of paper for decoration."

"Oh," said Sherlock, looking disappointed. "I thought you meant, I mean, I've been researching how to do it under controlled conditions."

John grinned and pulled him close to kiss his pout away. Life with Sherlock had grown a lot easier since they'd begun sleeping together after the gingerbread incident a few weeks ago. "Let's do both," said John. "We have all evening, we'll do yours first, and then mine."

Sherlock's face lit up in surprised delight. "Really?"

"Really," said John. "You should go get that weird lens thing you bought for your phone, you can text them to people with no explanation and then deride them for insufficient holiday cheer when they act all confused."

"Oh. Oh! Yes, of course!" Sherlock scampered off to get set up for photos, and then he spent a while fidgeting with the equipment. Mrs. Hudson brought up the biscuits, which were filled with jam and dusted with icing sugar and just a little warm and sticky from the oven still. John fed one to Sherlock, and there was a bit more delay with kissing and licking jam off fingers, but eventually they got Sherlock's setup working and grew themselves some actually quite lovely ice crystals and even a few proper snowflakes.

"These are beautiful," said John, flicking through the photos on Sherlock's phone when they were done. "I'm going to send myself a few of them, all right?"

"Whatever you like," said Sherlock, busy munching on more biscuits. "I want tea with these, though."

"You know where the kettle is," said John, busy emailing himself the best of the photos that Sherlock had taken. He shouldn't be surprised when Sherlock appreciated the beauty in the world, and yet sometimes he always was.

Sherlock sighed but went into the kitchen.

"Make me some, too!" called John, after a distracted moment where he accidentally stumbled onto crime scene photos instead. He had no idea Sherlock had been paying him any mind, but here was a photo of himself, lit up and looking quite impressed, probably with something Sherlock had observed. John flipped back to the middle of the snowflakes and set the phone down just in time for Sherlock to come out with two cups of tea.

"Oh, perfect," said John, taking his with a grin. "Mm, very good, ta."

"I suppose you'll expect tea all the time now," said Sherlock dryly, picking up his phone and flicking through it, tapping away before disconnecting the macro lens. "Now, shall we begin on your more mundane methodology?"

John grinned and pulled Sherlock close for a warm, tea-scented kiss. "Yes, love, let's be mundane together. I'll show you the principle and then you can impress me with your ability to completely exceed my expectations." He was only mostly teasing -- he knew Sherlock tended to want to be the best at whatever he did or not bother doing it, which is why his violin playing was amazing but he wouldn't touch a paintbrush.

John folded up a sheet of paper and cut it to square, then showed Sherlock how cuts made in the folded paper turned to patterns when it was opened.

"Oh, that's depressingly simple," said Sherlock, looking a touch disappointed.

John chuckled. "That's why we did yours first," he reminded Sherlock. "Anyway, some people are really amazing at these, I'm about the level of your average nine-year-old, though it's easier now I've got some left-handed scissors."

Sherlock took up John's left hand and kissed it, lips brushing over the knuckles, then the palm. "It's good you're taking care now," he said, in one of his rare moments of genuine affection. "I like the things you do with this hand."

John rewarded him with a lingering kiss. "Come on, love, if we do one each that's three to hang up."

"Hang up?" asked Sherlock curiously.

"Yeah, you hang them on the wall with the garland and lights and things, or make littler ones for a tree. I mean, they're fun, but they're also for showing off," said John. He grinned impishly and added, "You do love showing off."

"I do love showing off," said Sherlock, grinning right back. "All right, a snowflake or two to show off." He chose a sheet of paper out of the pile and began folding it with much more care than John had shown for his demonstration. John smiled fondly, and a little bit smugly, as well, for having found the key to getting Sherlock interested in their little holiday craft project.

John took a new sheet of paper for himself and spent some extra time thinking on how to fold it and what to do, so that his second effort was quite a bit nicer than the first, which he had every intention of accidentally tearing when he went to tape it up. He lost himself in the process of it, and ended up making three quite nice ones while he finished his tea and biscuits. "How's it coming along?" asked John, looking up to see Sherlock had turned his own into something fine enough to be lace.

"Nearly done," said Sherlock, wielding the scissors with intent. A few more carefully controlled snips and he set the scissors down with a grin. "Let's see how it came out," he said, carefully and triumphantly unfolding his creation. It was quite delicate and he almost tore it separating the various layers, but the end result was a chaos of cutouts, the shapes small but disorganised. "Hm," said Sherlock.

"It's beautiful for a first attempt," said John. "The detail is amazing."

"You always say that," said Sherlock, but he was preening anyway. "Is there time for another?"

"Yes," said John definitively. "I'll order up some curry while you plot and plan," he offered, standing up to give Sherlock a very warm kiss. "Then we can each make a few more before we hang everything up."

"Mm, yes, I approve of this plan," said Sherlock, pulling John close for another kiss. Then he headed into the kitchen and came out with a cutting board, which he set up with another sheet of paper and the craft knife.

John ordered all their favourite Indian food, splurging a little on the extras that Sherlock liked but didn't like to ask for. Sherlock still got a quiet thrill whenever John properly deduced him, which made John proud and also glad they'd managed to salvage their holiday activity despite the misunderstanding. A few extra quid spent on treats would go a long way toward keeping Sherlock in this good mood, which was priceless in the down time between cases.

When he came back upstairs bearing the packages, he found that Sherlock had begun a careful series of much more orderly cuts on his new snowflake, and didn't look like he wanted to be disturbed any time soon. John sorted things mostly into a warm oven to stay fresh and then came over to sit next to him. "Food's here, but no rush," he said.

"Mm," said Sherlock, which could mean he'd heard and understood, or could mean he hadn't even realised John was talking to him or even in the room. John made another snowflake of his own for good measure, and then gently removed the craft knife from Sherlock's grip. "Come on, love, let's eat and then you can work on that while I get the boxes down from the cupboard."

Sherlock huffed, but a few more kisses -- and a staunch refusal to return the sharp object -- lured him into the kitchen where they made up plates and he purred happily to find he'd been denied none of his favourites. "You are in a holiday mood," said Sherlock, biting into a big mouthful of curry and naan.

"Thanks to you," John replied, giving him a kiss that left his lips tingling; Sherlock liked his curries hot enough to burn. "Well, and Mrs. Hudson."

"The biscuits were exceptional this time," agreed Sherlock between bites.

John dug into his own food, licking his lips to try to get the tingling to subside. "Oh, yes," said John with a grin. "She's quite pleased our decorating wasn't to involve anything dead or explosive."

"I hope you didn't promise nothing would be on fire," said Sherlock with a pout.

John couldn't resist kissing him again, resigned to tingly lips until they had the milky kheer he'd hidden in the fridge. "I know about you and your candles," said John with a wink.

Sherlock chuckled and looked rather unbearably smug for a moment, and they both fell silent in favour of eating their respective dinners. Sherlock was pleased, though unsurprised, when John pulled their puddings out of the fridge and oven respectively, serving them each a bowl of cold kheer and a trio of warm gulab jamun in syrup. A fresh pot of tea went with their sweets out to the living room, where Sherlock resumed his cutting and John did some tidying up, puttering around the room between bites of his treat. Once they'd both finished up their sweets, John went upstairs and rummaged around for the boxes of decorations, bringing down both his and Mrs. Hudson's as promised.

He got caught up talking to her when he took them down, and then roped into helping, so it was a couple of hours later when he finally made it back upstairs feeling rather knackered. "D'you mind if we finish up here tomorrow?" asked John, stretching his back and neck.

"No, go on, I can see Mrs. Hudson's taken advantage," said Sherlock, still bent over his task. "I don't think I'll sleep, but do keep the bed warm in case I want sex."

John laughed and came over to give him a snuggly sort of kiss. "I'll do that, and feel free to wake me if the urge overtakes you, otherwise I'll see you tomorrow, love."

"Mm," said Sherlock, attention trying to go back to his snowflake.

John laughed and kissed his hair, then took himself to bed. He sometimes missed having Sherlock beside him on those nights his lover stayed up, but in the end it was better to let Sherlock be himself than to force him into John's idea of what a lover ought to be. The lovers John thought he ought to have hadn't done him much good in the end, anyway, unlike Sherlock.

John fell asleep to those thoughts, and woke some number of hours later to the feel of long fingers working at his clothing, and warm kisses over the back of his neck. "I find that being festive has given me some fascinating urges," said Sherlock in his ear.

John laughed sleepily. "I'm glad you woke me instead of taking care of it yourself," he said, turning enough to get a kiss. Sherlock had removed his own clothing already, and with John's help managed to get John out of his pyjamas in short order. "Are you going to have me?" asked John curiously; they'd tried it both ways since their first time together, but Sherlock generally preferred to bottom.

"I suppose I could," said Sherlock, his voice rumbling in John's ear and going straight to his libido. "It still catches me off guard, that you'll let me."

"We both like it," said John, pulling him down for another kiss. "Go on, open me up and let me be the lazy one for once, love."

Sherlock chuckled. "You do know why I like bottoming," he said, purring happily against John's mouth. "All right, a lovely shag for our holiday celebration it is."

John laughed into the next kiss, and the next, and then he couldn't laugh anymore because Sherlock's fingers were doing amazing things to him. Sherlock had found the lube and was stroking his fingers along John's crease, rubbing his hole, pressing inside with the same care he'd given their earlier projects. Sherlock gave all his attention to John and John's body and John's pleasure, and it never failed to make everything feel an order of magnitude better, knowing that he was the centre of Sherlock's world for just a moment.

It didn't take long for John to open up, as relaxed as he was from sleeping, as aroused as he was from Sherlock's intent regard and lush kisses. Sherlock always knew just when John was ready for him, and he pulled those long fingers out and slid his long cock inside John in one smooth motion. The hand and its excess lube slid around to find John's cock, stroking with that same expertise, the same attention to the details of John's body and desires that he'd used elsewhere.

"You feel amazing inside, you're letting me inside your body, taking me into yourself," purred Sherlock, hand and hips working in tandem. "I can't ever seem to take this for granted."

"Good," said John, kissing him greedily. "Oh, so very good, don't, don't want, oh, you to s-stop appreciating this, us, love you, Sherlock, Sher-yes, yes," babbled John, wanting to encourage and affirm and left, at the end, with nothing but moans to show Sherlock how much this all meant to John.

Sherlock's own sentences broke up, stuttered to a halt, thrust by thrust taking them both apart in the very best of ways. "John, mine, my John," he said, the litany of possession that was always his default. His hips sped up and hand along with them, and it was John that went first, crying out, making a mess of the sheets that Sherlock would refuse to help clean up or sleep in, but it didn't matter because Sherlock was still doing amazing things to his arse, drawing out his orgasm with deft strokes of hand and cock.

It wasn't until he'd wrung every drop of pleasure from John's body that Sherlock had his own orgasm, biting at John's shoulder to keep from crying out too loudly as he spilled into John's welcoming arse. John missed, a little, seeing the pleasure wash over Sherlock's beautiful features, but he was willing to let it go tonight and let the languidness of sleep and sex together keep him curled up in the dark at his lover's mercy.

"Mmm, please tell me you brought a towel," said John with a sigh, nuzzling for another kiss.

Sherlock obliged with the kiss and then, showing that he wasn't entirely without forethought when it left him without a wet spot to sleep in, found the towel he'd stashed in the sheets in front of John and began to clean them both perfunctorily with it. John would still be sticky and possibly sore in the morning, but he didn't care one whit, not when Sherlock was spooning back around him and coaxing him back to sleep with one hand rubbing his belly and little kisses across his shoulder.

"Love you," John murmured as he was drifting off.

"And I, you," replied Sherlock softly, almost reverently.

John sighed and let sleep claim him, dreaming of crime scenes and snowflakes and a house built of gingerbread corpses.

* * *

John woke later to find Sherlock already gone. Sometimes it was like that, he'd just settle in for a nap and get back to whatever had him excited, and other nights he slept for hours and hours until John had to drag him out of bed, if he even bothered. John stretched and purred, feeling his body languorous and just a little sore in the wake of their lovely late-night sex. He got up and cleaned himself up, and then donned pyjamas and took himself out into the flat proper only to be confronted with a winter wonderland.

Sherlock had apparently been feeling the Christmas spirit more than John knew. The flat was completely decked out, and among the garland and lights, candles and other decorations, there were snowflakes. Sherlock had printed some of the best photos they'd taken and put them up on the walls alongside their cut-paper snowflakes, both John's half-dozen and another dozen that were obviously Sherlock's, each more intricate than the next. John could follow the progression as Sherlock had got the hang of exactly how much he could cut away, and what each cut would do to the final product.

Each of John's snowflakes was hung up next to one of Sherlock's photos, often slightly overlapping, which brought to mind the way Sherlock liked to drape himself into the background of whatever John was doing, and often the foreground instead.

"Ah, you're up," said Sherlock, coming up the stairs with his arms full of cut pine boughs. "I'm nearly done."

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when John kissed him, crushing the fragrant evergreens between them as they kissed and kissed. "It's beautiful, Sherlock, thank you."

Sherlock beamed. "I'm happy to see your holiday spirit is fully restored."

John kissed him again, and helped him with the finishing touches. "The snowflakes are perfect," said John, snuggled up on the couch with a bacon butty, Sherlock, and two mugs of hot cocoa.

"I know," said Sherlock smugly. But John knew what he really meant.


End file.
